Left alone
by BBCRULES
Summary: It's a very realistic story that decribes how Sherlock would feel before and after John's wedding. I just came across the phrase, "My good friend, John, is deserting me for a wife - the only selfish action which I can recall in our association." from Sir Doyle's story. If a good plot and ideas come up, then I will write more. Thanks for the suggestions:-) Reviews are welcome.
1. Wedding

Sherlock gave a terse nod as the happy couple got into a car. He had just shaken John's hand for a farewell. Soon flood of guests pushed the detective aside, surrounding the couple. The sleuth was about 20 feet away and watched John's face beaming with joy. The new Watsons were going to Prague for their honeymoon the next day. Tonight they were to stay at a nice hotel near Covent Garden. It was a wedding gift from his brother. He couldn't attend the wedding for a matter of national importance whatever it was.

* * *

It was only after the banns were announced that Sherlock started to realise that John would end his bachelorhood soon. Everything had changed after three years. Well, not exactly everything. Mrs. Hudson still mothered him and all of his possessions were preserved well. John had moved out briefly but moved back a couple of months before the wedding.

John had it out with the Holmes brothers. Bruises, nose-bleeding, and a lot of cursing… Sherlock was literally awed by colorful curse words from his flatmate, which totally betrayed the doctor's gentle face and wrinkly smiles. How John could've mustered up the courage to punch his older brother, Sherlock would never know.

For the first few days, the two men didn't know how to fill the silence between them. The atmosphere was as thick as custard. The detective usually surfed the Internet for any interesting news or played the violin as he needed a lot of practice. He would've been very happy to turn the kitchen into his private lab anytime soon, but John's mood fluctuated too often. The doctor doubted whether the detective had considered him as a true friend. For the time being, the detective had to behave as much as possible.

John dated with a girl. It wasn't surprising. As if he would dispute the nickname, "confirmed bachelor", the doctor used to date with a lot of girls. But this time, there was something special. To begin with, John did hesitate when Mrs. Hudson said he should introduce Mary to Sherlock. John didn't want to even when Sherlock noticed two small ring boxes sitting inside the lockable-but as easily accessible as the one without a lock- drawer.

Sherlock knew this Mary girl must be very special to John. He could have followed the doctor and found out about the girl or he could visit Mycroft, but he didn't want to. It was like Pandora's box. He didn't want to open it. Two weeks after the doctor moved back, a small, blonde, cheery Mary Morstan visited the flat and introduced her to the sleuth. If only John hadn't been so protective of her, Sherlock could've behaved nicely. The first meeting ended with John bursting out the flat with Mary. He didn't come home until the next morning.

When Sherlock heard the creaking of the stairs, he thought John would punch him again. Strangely, the doctor just said good morning and made tea as if nothing had happened the previous night. He broke the news of his engagement and imminent wedding while they had tea together. He looked rather guilty for hiding such a big news that could affect their flatshare. Mrs. Hudson had been hushed and she had managed to keep her mouth shut with grudges. John ran upstairs to his bedroom, leaving the detective dumbfounded.

The life was tedious. Yes, it was nice to settle and be around friends. However, the detective often found himself missing the days plotting and pursuing criminals along the mazy alleys of London. Sherlock hadn't gotten a case from the police since he returned. A couple of cases that he solved were all private cases without John. Lestrade, although his face beamed and his eyes were a bit red at the sight of the detective, didn't knock at the door of 221B right away for help. He visited the flat one night, asked for Sherlock's consent to become the official consultant for the police, and hadn't acquired the green light from his seniors. Although his previous cases turned out to be valid and accurate, the name, Sherlock Holmes, wasn't of welcome. Mycroft Holmes noticed the delay: Sherlock knew it would all clear out soon.

Meanwhile, Sherlock spent many nights alone at the flat, playing the violin or checking on the past case files. John often was absent, dating with Mary or dealing with "decisions" to be made about the wedding. Unlike most brides who want to have an exclusive right to the wedding, Mary always wanted to involve John: the only thing the groom-to-be was left out was the wedding dress. Bad luck if the groom sees it before the wedding, they say.

* * *

Two days ago John had packed almost all of his things. Mary's cousin had a van so they could move John's things easily. There were still a few clothes left including John's tux, the same as Sherlock's in the wardrobe, but John's room was bare. Last night John and Sherlock went out for dinner. John didn't want a stag night: he just wanted to spend his last night of freedom with his best friend. He had already had drinks at a pub with his friends and colleagues. This night was just for the detective and the doctor. John came home quite early before three.

Sherlock was all dressed, and pored into the laptop screen. He had been searching the internet for hours to plan the night, but he just couldn't. John said no on the idea of the stag party: Mary had the bridal luncheon with her mother and friends. John cleared his throat with a tray of teacups and a plate of muffins.

"Where do you want to go?"

Sherlock asked.

"It's on me, Mr. Groom. Dinner, a movie, karaoke, whatever you like, just name it."

John smiled away the awkwardness that had been lingering between the two since the banns.

"Angelo?"

Sherlock grabbed his mobile and texted the restaurant. John disappeared and came back with a small box. Sherlock glanced at the box for seconds, and asked.

"You don't take your gun to your new house?"

"How did you possibly know.. well, never mind.?"

John rolled his eyes and stopped in the middle of a sentence: he had forgotten how the detective could deduce. Three years had been such a long time.

"Just be safe. Sherlock. And don't pound on the wall just because you are bored. Mrs. Hudson got older. It can give her a heart attack. "

"She is tougher than she looks… Okay, okay. I won't. "

The detective stammered as John glared at him. Soon John's face softened as Sherlock said thanks.

* * *

That night Angelo as usual brought a candle to their table. He got more grey hair, walked a bit slower, but he was all smiles. John turned his mobile off. Sherlock understood and appreciated the gesture. He did the same. Tonight would be the same, just for them, like the old days. They played with their appetizers in reminiscing their first case.

"It was almost 4 and half years ago… Our first case, Sherlock."

"Time flies fast. The past looks better than it actually is… Well, let's eat."

Sherlock took a forkful of salad to his mouth and chewed. John did the same. There were so many things to talk about, but they just couldn't. For once, John didn't have to urge the sleuth to eat. Sherlock seemed to enjoy the food very much. The doctor didn't know that Sherlock was trying to act to assure John that he would be just fine without pampering. When they finished their pasta, Angelo joined their table for coffee.

"After the honeymoon, please visit again with your bride, John. It's on the house. My present."

"You really don't have to, Angelo."

"No, no…. I know how Sherlock, "

The owner slapped the detective by the shoulder.

"And you complete each other. Now you've found your soul mate. I just wish I could attend _his_ wedding, too."

Sherlock protested.

"Angelo, you know I am married to my work."

"Yes, I know."

Angelo sighed, rolling his eyes.

"A man and a woman are meant to complete each other, Sherlock. God made us so. John. I am very happy for you. Congratulations again."

He shook his hand with the doctor and walked to his kitchen. They walked outside the restaurant, and looked up at the sky.

"Now what?"

The detective raised his eyes as John giggled.

"Remember, welcome to London?"

Sherlock joined John and laughed. It felt so good to laugh at a memory with John. The doctor's eyes twinkled.

"I'd love to walk through the places that we've been together as a team. For example, Roland-Kerr college?"

"Perfect!"

The two men hailed a cab and got in. They visited all the places in London: the college that John had shot the mad cabbie; the museum that poor Soo Lin died; the Glass Egg; the Buckingham Palace. They talked about their past cases, and argued about John's blog. After a couple of hours later, they entered a coffee place to rest their legs.

"Well, we'd better go now. You need a rest. Tomorrow is a big day, John."

John hesitated for a few minutes and finished his coffee. He was waiting for the detective to finish his drink.

"Before we go back to the flat, there's one place that I'd like to go."

"Where?"

Sherlock asked but he knew their next destination: it was Bart's. John gave him a small smile.

"I've been avoiding the hospital all along. You returned. I still haven't been able to go there. I think tonight…, I hope I will be able to visit there without any fear of a nightmare. To close one chapter and to begin another."

The detective hailed a cab without further comments. The streets were vacant. John stopped the cab at the exact stop that he did four and half years ago. Sherlock had stood on the edge of the roof and called him. The doctor tried to swallow the lump in his throat. He walked past the ambulance garage to the bus stop. He could feel the detective's eyes penetrating him. Sherlock cleared his throat, and said.

"John. I am so sorry that I made you watch me jump."

"Don't. We know why. It's I who have to apologise for all the misunderstanding. Tonight, I got sentimental."

They sat on the bench near a public phone booth. John placed his hand on the hand of his friend. Sherlock didn't take his hand away. The doctor's voice got lower and urgent.

"Well, Sherlock. Would you do one thing for me?"

"Anything."

"Just one thing is enough. Keep yourself safe. Contact Lestrade before chasing a criminal. Let others know where you are or what your plan is. I won't be able to assist you as often as I used to do. Not that I don't want it. It's just...I have to respect Mary, and my priority should be the life that she and I build together."

"Understood."

Sherlock said it in a haste and slipped his hand into his jacket pocket.

"And I have to keep Mary safe. Mary's life might be put in a danger..l..."

"If you keep associating with me."

John flinched at this remark, but didn't deny it. Instead, he said,

"I will visit you as often as possible. I am still your blogger. You will be lost without me, right?"

Sherlock put on a weak smile and lied,

"Yes. I will need my blogger."

"Quite a lot of fans visit the blog again. They are very happy to have you back, Sherlock. I am sorry that I don't update as often as I should. After honeymoon, I will manage the blog better."

They kept silent in their ride to Baker Street. Sherlock had lied many times to John to solve cases, but this was the first untruth, a personal lie, to the faithful doctor. There would be no way that he would contact John for help. John said good night and retreated to his bedroom. The detective picked up the violin, but put it down again, realising that John needed sleep. He paced around the sitting room: he couldn't feel it real that John was going to get married and leave the flat the following day.

* * *

"Sherlock. Are you all right? You look pale. Had too much champagne?"

Lestrade approached with a look of concerns, glancing at the empty champagne glasses on the table. Most guests left the place, and there were few people like Mary's parents, Mrs. Hudson, and Molly were chattering.

"My good friend, John, is deserting me for a wife - the only selfish action which I can recall in our association."

Sherlock muttered out without knowing what he was saying. Lestrade gave a pat on his shoulder.

"Sherlock. Mrs. Watson seems to be the type of woman who understands John. You and John will be fine."

"I will manage without him, Greg. Just keep me in the loop, get me interesting cases, and I will be fine."

"Yes, as to that matter, I think you will be officially hired as the Yard's consulting detective from next Monday. You have to visit the Yard and sign the contract. Don't forget. 10:00 in my office."

"Thanks."

Mrs. Hudson found the sleuth. Lestrade gave them the ride to Baker Street. Sherlock listened to Mrs. Hudson's exclamatory babbling about how beautiful and perfect the wedding was. He didn't resent Mary as an indelible intruder; he tried not to. If Mary made John happy, then it was good enough. The challenge was that the detective had to keep John away from his cases as far as possible. With the wedding vow, he just lost his blogger. When the car stopped at the flat, the detective thanked the DI and walked heavily to his flat. He was left alone.

* * *

AN. Well, this is rather heavy, if not an angst. I am reading ACD's canon now, and I just found Holmes' word, "My good friend, John Watson, is deserting me for a wife - the only selfish action which I can recall in our association." in the story. I had to write this. Some fans speculate that the sign of three meant Sherlock, John, and Mary working together to fight the crimes. Thanks for reading. Reviews are very appreciated.


	2. The first week

AN: This happens after John's marriage. I think John's marriage would affect Sherlock greatly, despite all the pretense. I saw a spoiler photo and the look on Benedict's face made me write this. I am not sure if I could continue this story soon, but if a good idea hits me, then I will. BTW, I watched the STARTREK: I could feel empathy with John Harrison aka Kahn (Benedict Cumberbatch) much more than with Captain Kirk:-) Thanks for reading and please review is a big encouragement.

* * *

Mrs. Hudson's mobile rang. It was 6 in the morning. She was wide awake and had made coffee for herself. The phone rang as she flipped the first page of the Daily Mail.

_They have to teach them manners. Who would dare to call anyone this early unless it is an emergency?_

"Hello."

A hint of annoyance was audible in her voice. Yet she cringed when she recognised the voice: Mrs. Turner. Sherlock must have done something bad, real bad given the unpleasant and irritating tone of her neighbor. Honestly, Mrs. Hudson had no idea what he had done and she had run out of excuses.

_Wait. Violin. He did play the instrument all night, at least until I went to bed after 11:00._

"Hello. Martha. Say something to your ..., Mr. Holmes! Here, I am about to lose my new tenant of upstairs."

"Calm down, and tell me what happened."

"You didn't hear it? Your bloody detective stopped playing the violin an hour ago. My upstairs tenant, Mr. Brandon just left. Martha, I can't lose him. Everything gets so expensive."

"Did Mr. Brandon say that he would move out if…"

"If your detective doesn't stop playing after 8 at night…Did you manage to sleep?"

"Yes"

"I can't believe how you can go fall sleep with that noise."

"That noise is called music."

Mrs. Hudson said before thinking in a hurry. Instantly she regretted it. Mrs. Turner kept silence for a few minutes, and asked coldly.

"Are you defending him? Is playing a musical instrument in the middle of the night to dawn acceptable? Martha. It's abominable. Today's youngsters! I don't know what they teach at school. If this doesn't stop soon, I could file a complaint to the police before I lose Mr. Branson."

The landlady could picture her neighbor narrow her eyes, and stammered an apology. She promised that she would talk Sherlock out of that habit soon. Mrs. Turner cluck her tongue at this as if she couldn't believe it would work. Given the colorful history before Sherlock "died", Mrs. Hudson couldn't blame Mrs. Turner for that. After the call, Mrs. Hudson sighed.

A normal Mrs. Hudson would've run upstairs and shout her annoyance out on Sherlock "already". She just couldn't. Since the wedding, she had walked on eggshells around him.

The very day of the wedding, she didn't notice it. Everybody was too excited and exhausted. Sherlock kept to himself in his bedroom; the landlady herself went to bed early. The next day, Sherlock went out all day to visit Bristol and came home very late. She didn't know the purpose of his trip, but soon she found the upstairs kitchen was changed into a lab again. Sample bags were everywhere. A couple of test tubes were boiling over alcohol lamp. Litmus papers and pipets were strewn on the table. He was analyzing soil samples of Bristol using his microscope. Mrs. Hudson sighed at this sight. The bloody science thing again.

The only silver lining was that the detective hadn't brought body parts yet. Sherlock's scandal did rattle not only the Yard but also Bart's. In the wake of the fraud genius scandal, the hospital conducted the investigation of its lab and installed a complicated protocol so even Molly couldn't allow the detective to the lab or morgue. Only the hospital's employees or those with the proper permit could access to the hospital facility. That was why Sherlock had consented to Lestrade's request to be the official consultant for the Scotland Yard. With the permit, then he could gain the access to the Bart's lab again. He had visited the yard the previous day and signed the contract. It was a matter of time that the kitchen would cover biological area, which Mrs. Hudson would protest vocally to nip in the bud.

Anyway the kitchen was so messy when Mrs. Hudson walked upstairs with a tray of rolls and tea. John had asked her to feed him at least once a day. Sherlock was comparing two samples and writing a memo with his back against her. He heard her footsteps and called out John's name automatically. Then after a few seconds, he stopped movement. He managed to turn around to find Mrs. Hudson frozen on the spot. With a weak smile, he thanked for the tea. Mrs. Hudson couldn't say anything. She left the tray and left in a hurry.

Sherlock must have been suffering from John's marriage. He had never admitted it. He kept pretending as if there was no John in his life since he hung his new suit that he had worn at the wedding in the wardrobe. It was just like he had deleted the doctor thoroughly. The sleuth avoided talking about the doctor or his marriage. The landlady noticed it and asked why. Sherlock muttered out rather bluntly, "It's better for them." She didn't see how serious Sherlock was until he burst out of the flat upon a question about the best time to invite the couple to Baker Street.

Mrs. Hudson stared at the door that closed with a bang. She thought hard. There wasn't anything going on between them: at least that was what John had confirmed repeatedly. But no one could dispute that the relationship between the two flat residents was extraordinary. From time to time, Sherlock seemed to feel attached to John more than to his own brother, Mycroft. Sherlock would be alone again; would he be able to stand alone? There was no way that Mrs. Hudson could chide Sherlock on playing the violin, not today.

She creaked upstairs to find the sitting room deserted. He must be in his bedroom. The violin was put on the table with one of the strings snapped.

_Maybe I will talk to him later. He must be sleeping now._

He had not been able to sleep that much. Sherlock needed to get rid of sleep deprivation. The landlady sneaked back into her flat and prepared a simple breakfast.

Upstairs was so quiet for hours. Mrs. Hudson got a bit worried so she decided to clean upstairs a bit. Her rustles might wake Sherlock up. She opened one of the windows and tided the sitting room, put books on a table, washed cups and dishes, checked on the refrigerator to throw away food that had gone bad, and hung his coat and jacket on the chairs. Still the silence. So she opened and peeked inside of Sherlock's bedroom. His bed was unslept apparently. She didn't hear the door close so she wondered where Sherlock could be. She was taking out of the trash out of the kitchen when she heard someone noise upstairs. Sherlock must be in John's bedroom for hours but why? The room was bare: what-was-left-behind would be taken away after the honeymoon.

Mrs. Hudson walked upstairs to John's bedroom. The door was ajar. Sherlock was lying in John's bed and sleeping with a file clutched in his arm. Mrs. Hudson recognised the blue covered file: it was collection of newspaper scraps of Sherlock's suicide, and return.

Mrs. Hudson understood: the sleuth was feeling empty and uncertain. When Maggie married, Mrs. Hudson was so lonely, met Mr. Hudson, and agreed to marry him after a few times of dating. It was a terrible mistake. Twenty years of abuse… It was the memory that she would never want to stir. Like she did when Maggie broke the news, Sherlock had been putting on a brave façade and behaved politely to the bride to John's relief. However, the marriage must have been unnerving. It was a relief that Sherlock visited the Yard the previous day. Soon the DI would get him some difficult cases to occupy the detective's attention. She thought about getting a blanket for him, but changed her mind because she knew he wouldn't want to be seen at this delicate moment. It was a rare moment that Mrs. Hudson saw a vulnerable boy in Sherlock. The weather wasn't chilly so he wouldn't catch cold. She was about to turn around when something caught her eyes. There was a memo in John's handwriting on the cover of the file. It said,

"Sherlock, nothing changes the fact that you are still my best friend."

Mrs. Hudson heard a light snoring: John's memo was a magical lullaby. She left the door ajar and walked softly downstairs, not disturbing his slumber.

* * *

A/N By the way I don't write slashes. guys. There are so many BETTER authors than me... I will probably describe a very strong friendship. Thanks for reading. Have a great day.


	3. Three months after the wedding

AN. I am reading "The Advantures of the three Garridebs." It inspired this chapter. Thanks for reading and reviews are always appreciated.

* * *

"Sir, here is…"

"Hey."

"What are you doing here?"

This might have sounded really impolite and even harsh, but that was from his ex-flatmate, Sherlock Holmes. It was almost the same as "glad to see you." The short man made a big grin and said simply,

"You will be rendered useless without your blogger."

John ignored disapproving Greg and shuddered as he had only a poorly padded jacket: he had stayed outside the old flat for hours before he spotted Sherlock leave. He had to: John had been feeling that he was being excluded from cases since he got married. Greg hadn't contacted John for any of Sherlock's cases; Sherlock changed the subject or left with an unconvincing excuse of other errands to run, and he hadn't updated his personal website, the Science of Deduction. Knowing Sherlock, there must have been quite a few cases that he had solved. Even the nosy Mycroft had left the doctor alone. John had never imagined that he would miss the black car from the older Holmes. So John Watson, after checking on his wife being in deep sleep, grabbed a cab, and headed to his old street.

A new face of the team, Timothy, handed over a small steamy cup of morning coffee. The doctor thanked him and eagerly took a few sips and relished its warmth while Lestrade and Sherlock eyed each other with the silent question: did you contact John? Lestrade stammered out a question to John.

"Okay. Who contacted you?"

"Neither of you. Let's say... it's a hunch."

"Does Mary..."

"Don't worry about her. She'll understand."

"John. Don't tell me that you sneaked out of your house."

Lestrade chided John. John's face reddened a bit while Sherlock's lips curved into a small smile: Sherlock just couldn't suppress it.

"Sir."

Timothy handed over a mobile. Lestrade's face darkened.

"Sally isn't coming. Her mother had a stroke and she is on her way to the A&E."

Lestrade's stern eyes made the rookie stammer in red.

"Sorry, sir. Sergeant Donovan... It's just she's my kindergarten friend, so..."

"What the hell. Why this moment that her mother had..."

Sherlock stopped in the mid-sentence as John's head snapped in warning. The detective lowered his voice and continued,

"We need a woman officer to lower his defense. Greg. Can you call in a substitute officer?"

"No. Only twenty minutes to go. It will look suspicious. Tim. Get Roger ready."

The detective' wasn't listening. His emerald eyes were fixated on the unsuspecting doctor.

* * *

5 minutes later, John got his beard shaved clean; forced a pony-tail blonde wig over his head; and given a set of pink tracksuit. Still in disbelief, the doctor went to the loo to change. The disguise had been prepared for Sally. It was a bit tight, but John looked okay. He did look like a woman who badly needed exercise. Sherlock was gone when the doctor was out. Lestrade glanced at him, chuckled low, and turned his head to the monitor that showed a nervous man stepping out of the tube station. Roger walked slowly with his eyes darting around. John looked at the screen and said,

"Mary will hate me if she sees my beard gone."

"Mr. Watson. Don't look around. Put on this mask on your mouth. Far away, Drake will see only a woman. Act like a jogger heading to the Hyde Park."

Timothy held out a leash: a small dog was wagging its tail.

"Now hold this."

"A puppy?"

"Well-trained. Just keep hold of the leash."

Lestrade peeked out the street, nodded, and said.

"John. Put on the cap. Sherlock's pretending to be the newsstand owner. You see the newsstand there? Damn, the fog. Walk with the dog to there. Sherlock will say something to you, and then just act it out. Okay, I can see Roger. Team A and B. Standby."

The bearded man with a cap appeared out of thin air. The morning fog was thick. His acuteness and rangy body must have given him the nickname, the spider. Roger almost jumped. His hand was shaky as he handed over the money. The new man checked the amount with gloved hands, grinned and handed over a small packet. He kept looking around while his right hand was on position, tense and ready. His eyes scanned the parked cars alongside the road; a newsstand on the opposite side; a man was opening it and laying out things from the box. A blonde woman, who apparently was on her way to the Hide Park for jogging stopped and talked with the man. The newsstand man looked rather familiar, but he couldn't place the man. His eyes flew back and fixated on the sweating man who was clutching the packet as if it were his life. The deal was done. But something ticked off him. Then his eyes noticed a tip of wire near the collar of the man. His face hardened: he pulled out his gun and pointed at the man. Instinctivly he pulled the trigger. A clean shot, and then the bearded man began to run. He was fast. He cursed silently because he had just recognised the man at the newsstand: the famous detective_. Damn. A trap_.

_Stop. Freeze. …._

He could hear more people running after him. The chase started. Footsteps of at least four or five people. Without hesitation and not even looking back, he shot a couple of times into the fog where the chasers were coming. He could hear a few bullets ricocheting. A yelp.

The maze of the London Alley. In his brain was the traffic map of this area. He could hear the sirens closing. His footsteps echoed along the empty alley. More officers must have been dispatched. A patrol car was approaching. He threw the wad of money, which flew and scattered on the road. A few early commuters jumped out to the street, picking up the money and the patrol car screeched to a halt. Poor visibility and the people. The bad combination for the chasers. Officers gave up the patrol car and started to run after the man.

"There he is. Get him. Freeze."

He could see the XXX bridge. The first freight train of the day was approaching. It was time. The police officers rooted on the spot when he precariously jumped onto the railings.

"Hey, what are you doing?"

"Take it easy. Don't jump."

"Until the next time, officers."

He flung himself down and landed on the passing train. He turned around and waved a goodbye to the goggling officers. The sharp curve slowed down the train and he used the minute well to fling to the side ladder and get inside a box car. When it almost stopped, the man jumped on the ground and hastily disappeared into the fog.

* * *

Sherlock hold John's hand and yelled.

"You are not hurt, John? For God's sake, say that it was not that bad."

He could see blood coloring the pink pants into red. John was pushing his hands on top of his bullet wound, but the oozing blood made them so slippery. The blood was so red. Sherlock had never felt nauseous at the sight of blood or a body, but this time, his stomach churned. The pale boney hands wrapped John's one hand to help him press the wound.

"Sherlock….Sher… It's fine. A mere scratch."

"Worse than a scratch."

The sleuth's voice was shaky. It was a rare moment that Sherlock proved he had a heart as well as a brain. Before the hiatus, at least the sleuth used to pretend that he would not care. Then everything about John changed, possibly from the guilt of deceiving John for three years. Sherlock had sworn that he would never lie to John. Little had he expected that there would be John's bride waiting… He had no hard feelings about Mary Morstan ,but her presence seemed to drive a wedge between them. John's marriage was beautiful. Sherlock thought John deserved a decent marriage, and had been trying so hard to keep distance for his friend. He had made Greg and Molly keep silent about his cases; and never updated his web site. But he felt always alone at his flat with Billy to talk to. He had been used to John's presence so much so one-way conversation with the skull was as tastelsss as a week-old bread. No one did care about the messy kitchen sparing Mrs. Hudson. Crime scens didn't make him thrilled anymore. Ironically it often was next to a bashed victim where the sleuth felt the emptiness. He barely stopped himself from uttering out John's name.

John had been feeling isolated and estranged from his old friends. Yes, he hadn't noticed it for a couple of months as the couple had been so busy, getting used to the life together, and visiting relatives and decorating their flat. Now with the early excitement of a new life gone, he could see it. Sherlock seemed to avoid him; Greg didn't ask for the doctor's help in any of his cases; even Molly always changed the topic when John asked about Sherlock's cases. Only dear Mrs. Hudson was the same. John couldn't bear it anymore and had been sniffing around for days to join Sherlock at crime scenes. The look of surprise…soon turned into a small smile. That was what made the doctor comply to change into the woman's pink clothes.

Despite the pain, John's eyes were on Sherlock's face. Now all the pretense or distance gone, he could see the depth of loyalty that lay behind the pale face. It was like the time at the pool. John felt so safe and assured.

Sherlock ripped off the pink pants to reveal the wound. Greg ordered Timothy untie. The DI regretted teasing the rookie for wearing a tie and a shirt. Sometimes, a tie had its use. Sherlock tied John's leg with the necktie to stop the blood.

After a few minutes, paramedics jumped out of the ambulance. Sherlock's eyes never left his friend while the paramedic checked on John. They never miss anything: a needle on the wrist; low blood pressure; faster heartbeats… Greg was talking on the phone. John was being moved into the ambulance. Sherlock followed. Lestrade stopped the detective.

"Sherlock."

"What?"

The impatience was so obvious.

"Roger's dead. Drake...We lost him. We were about to corner him but he threw the money… and…"

"People picking up the money. Patrol cars useless. He…"

"He just jumped off the bridge on the roof of a freight train. We are stopping the train…"

"No use. He must've fled already. Anyway text me the details of your findings."

Sherlock closed the ambulance door and sat beside John. John looked very pale and breathed shallowly.

"John. Are you okay?"

"Sherlock. We lost…"

"I will find him. Take it easy, John. Don't speak. No, don't close your eyes."

"But, I am so tired. I want to sleep…"

John's words slurred….

"No, keep talking."

"I stayed awake to guess where you would be this morning… You've been avoiding me."

"And…"

"I waited until 3 o'clock at Baker Street, saw you get out of the flat, and followed you."

A text alert. Sherlock glanced at the texts from the DI.

"John, listen. He jumped off to the roof of a freight train. He must have known the train schedules. The track has a sharp curve after the XXX bridge. He knew the train would decelerate significantly. No one is interested in such funky ideas unless he is…"

John tried but his eyelids got heavier and heavier. Sherlock's voice faded away.

"John!"

Sherlock's voice couldn't hide his fear. His hard emerald eyes dimmed for once; the thin lips trembled. _The wound didn't seem that serious or was John hiding it_? The paramedic who was checking on John said in an assuring tone.

"Not life threatening. He just lost quite a lot of blood. Are you his…?"

Without realising the word, the sleuth said,

"Companion."

The paramedic's face softened. He had just seen the ring on John's finger.

"I will take my Sam upon it that he will be fine."

The sleuth didn't feel the need to correct the man on his assumption.

* * *

While the doctor was being treated, Sherlock was waiting outside the A & E: he had John's mobile and it kept buzzing, alerting calls or texts from one person, Mary Watson. He hesitated but there was no other way. She would notice it. A bullet wound and no beard. Even blinded, she would notice.

John's wound wasn't serious. The real trouble would start soon when Mrs. Watson heard the news. Biting his lips, the sleuth punched her number.

"Hello."

"Hello. Mrs. Watson. Sherlock Holmes."

"Mr. Holmes. Where's John?"

After the call, he sighed. John would be released with the prescription. Mrs. Watson's cold voice rang in his ears. Today was Mary's first day at the new school; she couldn't see any reason to go to the hospital as long as it is far from life-threatening situation. There was a strange coldness in her tone: she was offended as John didn't say anything about his "adventure". For hours, she paced around the empty house, stressed and worried about John. Sherlock couldn't guess if Mary was mad at him or John. In either way, it wasn't good. Mary had hung up after being assured that John was coming home soon. A nurse called out his name. He walked inside the A&E.


	4. Act adult

John crumbled on the sofa with groans. He was sweating already after the short walk from the cab to his flat. Sherlock placed the bag of medicine and another bag of cookies that he had bought at a café next to the hospital. He wasn't hungry. The cookies were for John: he hadn't eaten anything since he was shot. Sherlock walked into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, poured some water in a mug, and returned. John was struggling to throw off his sweat suit. The sleuth put the tray on the table to help and hung John's jacket on a nearby chair. John whispered thanks. Glancing at John's hand reaching for the medicine, Sherlock opened the bag of cookies and urged him to eat something before taking the medicine. John complied grudgingly as he felt like throwing up at the thought of eating something. But he managed to eat one, and took the medicine.

Sherlock made tea. With the tray of tea on the table, he noticed John was dozing off. The sleuth looked around the flat, John's new residence with Mary. Compared to 221B, the sitting room was following John's minimalist leanings with essential items only in place like a big flat screen TV, sofa and table, doored bookshelves. There was a oilpainting that described John and Mary at the wedding, Mary's work. It was almost the only decoration except a vase full of roses.

John's mobile vibrated and Sherlock snatched it to answer the call . Mary was on her way; she had called John's work, and thanked him for being there with John. Sherlock didn't realize John wide-awake until he hung up.

"Tea's gone cold. Shall I make it again?"

"No, cold tea is good. Thanks. Is it Mary?"

"Yes, she's on her way. John..."

"Mary's really mad."

"She didn't sound upset..."

"You need to read between the lines, Sherlock. And today was her first day at her job... The clinic..."

"Mrs. Watson said she had explained your absence."

John scratched his head, and drank his cold tea. With the adrenaline gone, the reality began to set in his mind.

"Women are not exactly your area, Sherlock. Sometimes I wonder how women could keep their heads intact with so many things going on inside their heads. A simple argument about how to squeeze toothpaste can open a can of worms, and..."

"What are you going to say?"

"The truth. Honesty always works the best. It's totally my fault. I didn't tell her and you didn't know."

"John. Tell her it's my fault. Tell her I had called you to help my investigation."

"I can't. Sherlock. She already acts defensively when I talk about you. I can't add one more UNTRUE and stupid reason to make her misunderstand you."

"I don't mind..."

Sherlock stopped in mid-sentence as John's face snapped abruptly.

"I do mind. If there is anybody to blame, it's me."

The doctor's body swayed; he couldn't hide his groans.

"You must lie down, John. Do you need help?"

John bit his lips, and stood up. Sherlock supported his friend to the master bedroom. The room was well decorated in the Victorian style in the sharp contrast to the sitting room: Mary's style. John fell on the bed, yawned, and rubbed his eyes and Sherlock pulled the duvet on his friend.

"Sleep. You didn't sleep last night. I guess at least for two nights you barely slept. And the medicine is about to kick in."

"Thanks."

John's words slurred a bit. Sherlock left the door ajar and sat down on the sofa. He checked on his mobile that he had been ignoring. There were texts from Lestrade, asking about John and if he could make it to the Yard later. He punched a short text, assuring John's being fine and he'd be back to the Yard as soon as Mary returned. He was drinking his second tea when he heard the door open.

His heart beat faster. Mary Watson walked into the room. She looked paler than usual; her eyebrows met in the middle but they managed to smooth out at the sight of the detective.

"Mrs. Watson."

"Where's John? I couldn't get out of the work earlier..."

"He's asleep."

Mary hurried into their bedroom and peered through the door. She stared at John's face for seconds, sighed and went to the guest toilet to wash her hand. She thanked the sleuth for her tea as he poured. Sherlock cleared his throat, and started.

"Mrs. Watson, it's me. I asked him to come and help. I had told him not to tell you..."

He used his low voice to make it sound sincere and believable. _Slow it down. Hesitate. Sigh. _After seconds, he continued.

"Something went wrong. A ricocheting bullet..."

"Mr. Holmes. You don't have to lie for him."

Sherlock stopped and looked at Mary as if he had never observed her properly: she was different strangely to see through the truth. Mary swallowed and stared back at the detective as if she also had never looked at him properly. Her calm voice filled the silence.

" I know you haven't contacted him at all. John has been complaining. He checks on your website every hour after work. He keeps typing and deleting texts that he would never send."

Her words shut Sherlock up. In silence they finished their tea.

"Mr. Holmes, I am not blaming you. I know you've been distancing yourself from us, and your intentions were good."

She smiled weakly, but her smile didn't reach to her eyes.

"They just backfired today."

"Judging from what I've heard, you are the last person to put him in danger. You had faked your death just to save him and didn't return for three years until you were so sure of his safety."

Mary tried to employ a lighter voice tone.

" It's just that you are like a magnet attracting all sorts of accidents and criminal cases."

"Ah... I don't attract them. They usually find me."

Sherlock felt more awkward as she bit her lips and said,

"My friends said it would be complicated given your relationship with my husband. Now I see it..."

"Mary, are you back?"

They heard John. Mary almost ran to their bedroom. Sherlock slowly followed to see her kneeling next to the bed and reaching out for John's hands. The detective flinched a bit, feeling embarrassed as he felt that he was violating their private moment. He hurriedly slipped out of the room. He was getting his coat and scarf when Mary appeared at the door.

"Mr. Holmes, thank you so much for what you did today. Would you mind if I ask you a favor?"

Sherlock's fingers that were tying the scarf stopped.

"Anything."

"We've run out of groceries and tonight was actually our weekly shopping night... I don't think I would be able to go out for shopping..."

"Give me a list of items. I will get them for you."

"Thank you."

"Mary, don't. Shopping and Sherlock? Please... "

There was an alarm in the doctor's voice: the detective couldn't blame him given the colorful history between them. Mary turned her head back at her husband.

"Mr. Holmes is a grown-up. He can manage. He's been living without you in the last three years. I know you've been shopping for him, John. Stop babying him. Now it's time for Mr. Holmes to learn how to deal with essential trivia of life."

"How did..."

"You had left the receipts at plain sight."

Sherlock fidgeted uncomfortably as he remembered the mild surprise that he felt when he found his refrigerator and pantry mysteriously stacked with biscuits, beans, poptarts, cheese, apples, and so on. He had thought it was the landlady. It was John.

"Mary. We can order on-line."

She threw a disdainful glance at her husband, jotted down a short list, and handed it to the detective with a superficial smile.

"Just give me the receipt. I will go to bank to transfer money tomorrow to your account."

"Don't worry about the money, Mrs. Watson."

"No. I am paying you back."

His eyes scanned through the list and his mouth opened before he knew it.

"Fat free milk and cheese?"

"We have to mind cholesterol. The jam, it's on the shelf for organic products. Thank you, Mr. Holmes."

She seemed to so eager to dismiss him for the moment. He'd better disappear so that Mary can talk to John privately. The detective left the flat and headed to the nearby Tesco... Mrs. Watson was right. Sherlock actually was capable of shopping; he'd prefer not to as long as there was someone who did the job for him. He walked around the aisles and tossed the items on the list. He just hoped John would be able to survive this moment. Heaving the grocery bags, he smiled at the Chip and PIN machine as the memory suddenly stirred up. He texted Mary that he would leave the grocery bags at the door with the receipt in ten minutes.

* * *

Two weeks later, Sherlock invited John to 221B: John had to see the doctor to check on his wound so the sleuth accompanied him to the clinic. John was pleasantly surprised to find the refrigerator and pantry full of "food" for human consumption. No biological samples in the kitchen... No odors. No clogging of the loos. The flat looked inhabitable. John was thinking about ordering Chinese when Sherlock started preparing lunch. John asked incredulously,

"What do you think you are doing now? Slicing bread? Is it for some kind of mold growing experiment? I don't see any petri dishes..."

"For our lunch. Hope you don't mind my cooking."

John's mouth dropped open as Sherlock started spread mayo on bread pieces. He made four sandwiches and a potful of tea. The doctor's voice rose half-accusingly.

"You can cook. You've been hiding it from me."

Sherlock shrugged it off and set the table for the two.

"Cooking is just a basic science. Nothing more. Get the ingredients. Measure them. Prepare them like peeling, chopping... Just follow the recipe. How do you think I managed to survive while I was gone away?"

John stared at the plate that held two beautifully cut pieces of ham and cheese sandwiches and an apple. He bit off his sandwich. Sherlock used the doctor's favorite cheese and ham, which Mary never bought. She always insisted on low-fat products with slices of cucumber. The sandwich, no wonder, tasted wonderful.

"Wow, you can open your own sandwich shop, Sherlock. It's good."

The sleuth sat down and bit a bite off the breads with a grin. Then he opened a thick file in front of him. John asked,

"A case file? You don't eat while you're on your case. Is it closed one?"

"Yes as the murderer was caught. And no, because we are still trailing on her accomplice. While you are here, I'd like to get your opinion on this case. A second opinion, very valuable to me."

John's eyes twinkled as Sherlock shoved the file to him. While chewing, the doctor flipped the pages and read the contents. Sherlock focused on eating, trying not to remember the call with Mary the other night. Mary agreed to involve John in the cases for the time being as long as it didn't endanger John. Mary Watson betrayed Sherlock's expectation: he had thought Mary would force John to choose between her and him. Sherlock asked her permission to involve John in his cases to certain degrees so John would not gatecrash the police investigations any more. Mary took time in agreeing but with one condition: "act adult" was her exact words.

John got the permission to go back to work after a week. Mary was busy adjusting to her new workplace. At least for this week, the detective and his blogger could work together like the old days, visiting the Yard and crime scenes. After lunch, Sherlock glanced at his mobile and said,

"Lestrade wants to see me at two. Joining me?"

John grinned and stood up. The two men ran downstairs, gave a short good-bye to Mrs. Hudson who just came inside, and headed out to grab a cab.

* * *

A/N The weather is unforgivingly hot here in my place. It seems spring and fall have disappeared. Well, I have to manage. Hope everybody enjoyed this chapter. Reviews are very appreciated. Thank you so much for reading. Now, Log off to practice the violin:-)


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